Monday, April 12, 2010

The Best-Laid Plans

It was supposed to be a weekend of therapeutic relaxation. Piero and Luca left on Wednesday for a four-day ski trip and I was going to celebrate the completion of nine pieces (and five months of stitching) by watching movies, taking outrageously long bubble baths, seeing a friend or two and being as unproductive as humanly possible.

At 2:30am, I awoke with a start. A fully-formed poem had come to me in the middle of the night. At first I tried to ignore it, but the words became louder and more insistent. Was this some sort of sadistic joke my brain was playing on me? Why now? Each sampler takes me 60 to 75 hours to complete. My framer had given me an absolute final deadline of Monday to have all my pieces in. Four days away.

Over and over the words resounded in my head.

Finally, I got out of bed to write them down.

"On The Price of Beauty"

Fill me, plump me,

Smooth me out,

Inject me with

a girlish pout.

Keep me spotless

and unmarred,

Just put it on

my credit card.

By the time I had finished, I could envision the entire layout, motifs and all.

My decision had been made.

On Thursday, I sewed from 6am to midnight.

On Friday, I sewed from 9am to 9pm (minus 45 minutes for a supermarket run to purchase protein).

On Saturday, I sewed from 10am to 10pm (minus a fifteen minute break for the One Kings Lane sale.)

On Sunday I rose at 4:30 am, worked through sunup, took a brief mid-morning blogging break to report on the OKL sale, and plunged my needle into burlap for the very final stitch at 2:30pm. My back ached, my fingers ached and my retinas were threatening to go on strike.

But it was done.

By the time you read this, I'll be racing to the Valley to drop the final piece off at the framer's.

And then I'm going to watch a movie, take a bubble bath, see a friend or two and be as unproductive as humanly possible. Lying on the sofa and staring at the ceiling sounds pretty good too.

I LOVE this piece! I love all of your work! I too wake up in the middle of the night with great artistic revelation. I do hope the rest of your free time will be spent luxuriating in long bubbly soaks...with a glass of ~ bubbly.

I just love the way you write. And sew. Perhaps it was a combination of the Buddha and lambic that put the poem in your head? Whatever it was, your story was inspiring. As you are. It will be a wonderful show.

Debra: Trying to get the kid sorted out so I can take a long bath -- but may have to wait until he falls asleep to do it!

Tammy@stitches: Wouldn't that be lovely?

24 Corners: Yes, that was a voice I just couldn't ignore. It would not be silenced...and now that it's all over, I'm glad I listened to it.

RoyalApothic: Come to the show... xx

Pamela Terry and Edward: Have not tried BB. Will order some tonight. Thank you, lovely one. xx

Vava: Your poem slays me. I love it. And you. xx

Nicole, Mrs. Blandings, Emily, Modern Traditionalist: I am feeling very grateful for your kind words. They are taking the backache away!

Kate F. and Acanthus and Acorn: So strange, those dreams, aren't they? You can try and try during the day to think of something and get nowhere, and then as soon as you close your eyes and your brain relaxes, THERE IT IS. Crazy.

Helen Tilston: That Rumi poem is exquisite. And you're right, now that the work is all over, I'm so glad I did it!

little augury: The framing is going to be very simple, just stretched upon a frame. The gallery and I decided that it would be more practical to let the buyer decide what kind of frame they want instead of spending a fortune on each one. I have two pieces in my house that are framed in totally different ways: one in a gilt, Rococo frame that's totally over-the-top and another in a wide pale wood architectural drawing-type frame. Both work wonderfully well and impart a slightly different personality to the pieces.

Ivy Lane: One bubble bath down, another one coming up tonight..!

PVE Design: You are TOO funny!! I actually did have a couple of horrific moments with that last piece that I didn't blog about and that involved hours of extra work (apparently, when you sew for 16 hours, you get a little bleary-eyed -- who knew?!). I made a stupid mistake in hour three and didn't notice it until hour eight. I allowed myself one minute to cry and then started ripping out stitches. But all that's over now and there's a cocktail in my immediate future.

Always Me:Very perceptive. Perhaps the Lambic and all those PBS visions of nirvana DID spur my brain to start slumber-dancing.

Jane: It DOES feel good. I'm utterly exhausted and drained and slightly personality-less at the moment, but happy that I accomplished on Sunday something that I thought was unaccomplishable on Thursday. xx

okay, that is FANTASTIC. I am going to have to post your awesome poem and refer them your way of course, because you have to read the whole post to truly appreciate it! I am a needlepointer and I can really appreciate all the work you did, plus the poem is GENIUS!

Wonderful description of the creative process! The 10% inspiration can come at the most surprising times and the proverbial 90% perspiration often pushes itself into the least convenient times. Clearly, the finished product is well worth the inconvenience, but I do hope you find some time to put your feet up and enjoy some quiet time soon to recharge your batteries.

I happened by your blog and must say you are an incredibly talented and patient woman, your work is exquisite. I like it here so will add you to my follow list. Sorry about your weekend relaxing plans but looks like it was a highly creative break. All the best.

You should bathe in champagne or donkey milk to soften those calluses on your fingers which surely have come about after your incredible collision with night time creativity....LOVE that poem and it's amazing realization!